


Bubbling Up

by waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Awake the Snake (Good Omens), Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Reunions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: Aziraphale turns up at Crowley's flat to get him out of bed. He doesn't exactly succeed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 124





	Bubbling Up

**Author's Note:**

> It's time for Crowley to get up, so this is my take on Snakey Wakey/Awake the Snake! Thanks so much to [LeilaKalomi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilaKalomi/profile) for the insightful beta on this! ❤️

It's July, and Crowley is still asleep when Aziraphale enters his bedroom.

He's sprawled haphazardly across the entire mattress, not quite covered by the comforter and spine twisted in a way that would be concerning for anyone but Crowley. His striking red hair, a little longer now, spills across the pillow.

He looks like every hoped-for vision of a storybook heroine in need of a little assistance. When Aziraphale creeps closer, not wanting to break the spell just yet, he can feel Crowley's even breaths, see the way his eyelids flutter in sleep.

They've been apart for longer than this. Centuries have passed by in their history without Aziraphale ever seeing Crowley, with only whispers and rumors of the demon before him to know where he'd been. It's never _ached_ like this. It's never carried this soul-deep longing, this certainty that once he and Crowley became romantically involved—only last summer, how _can_ it have been nearly a year already?—they should never have tried to be anything but.

"Angel," Crowley exhales, more of a sigh than anything, but Aziraphale hears his name in it. He holds his breath, waiting to see if Crowley will wake on his own, but Crowley simply nuzzles deeper into the pillows and smiles, still lost in his dreams.

Aziraphale sets his parcels down, removes his tartan face mask (it's important to keep up appearances), and sits on the bed next to Crowley. He touches Crowley's hair and whispers Crowley's name; Crowley stirs, but still doesn't wake.

Well, this won't do at all.

Aziraphale thinks, gazing at Crowley in his long repose, that he would quite like to be the brave, dashing one for once in their history—that he would like to bring Crowley back to the land of the waking and end this terrible, yawning loneliness for both of them. Before he can think about it too much, Aziraphale leans over and brushes Crowley's lips with true love's kiss—

—and promptly gets tackled onto the floor for his trouble.

In a flurry of movement, Aziraphale finds himself somewhat immobilized by Crowley, very much conscious now and pinning him down, hissing and spitting. "How did you get in here?"

His teeth are bared; Aziraphale thinks about how he should be quite intimidated, were he and Crowley not so intimately familiar. He meets Crowley's eyes, keeping as calm and still as he can, and waits for the penny to drop.

A moment passes, then Crowley blinks himself the rest of the way into wakefulness. "Aziraphale?"

"Do let me up, dear boy." He rolls his hips up against Crowley's in a bid to dislodge him. Crowley grins and flicks his eyes down between them but releases him and offers a hand up, which Aziraphale takes. "There's a good fellow. What were you playing at?"

"What're _you_ playing at, sneaking around like that?" Crowley counters. He blinks again. "You're here. Why are you here? You said—"

His words get cut off by an enormous yawn, followed by a stretch. Crowley's bare-chested, and Aziraphale's eyes catch on the long lines of his body, the dip of his hipbones emerging from low-slung black lounge pants. It has been a very long two months.

Crowley notices, drat him. "Oh, I see how it is." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"That's not—not just that, rather. I _missed_ you," Aziraphale says. This isn't going at all how he planned. "It's _July_. You said you'd be done having your kip by now." He tries not to sound too petulant, but it's a near thing.

"It's July already?" Crowley snags his phone off the bedside table and taps at the screen. "Huh. Must've slept through my alarm."

"Good thing I was here, then."

Crowley's eyes flash with a stubborn tetchiness Aziraphale recognizes. "Is it all over, then? Out there? Last I heard, you weren't leaving your shop for anything."

"Not exactly," Aziraphale hedges. "It's still all quite a mess. But the situation in London _has_ improved. We—they're calling it a 'support bubble.' We can be each other's."

It feels terribly soon and terribly much to ask this of Crowley, after Aziraphale's sound rejection of his offer back in May. But the weeks of not seeing him have taken their toll, and Aziraphale's starting to feel desperate. There's only so much baking for one and reading alone that he can stand now that he's gotten used to company.

"So, what." Crowley crosses his arms over his chest. "Does it mean we can be together? No rule-breaking?"

Aziraphale nods, a touch too eagerly. "Just so, as long as we stick close to home. Or we can go out to the park in a bit, if you like, but I'm afraid you'll have to wear a mask." He picks up his own and dangles it for Crowley's inspection.

"Eugh," Crowley says. His sleep-creased frown deepens. "Pass for now, thanks. But, yeah, to—to the rest of it. Of course I'll be in your bubble. Our side, hmmm?" He taps his foot impatiently. "Speaking of, will you kindly come _here_ , angel?"

With that, Crowley opens his arms at last. Aziraphale, feeling like something profound has passed between them with Crowley's acceptance, does what he's wanted to do every day since they've been apart, which is to envelop Crowley in his grip and hold on tight.

Crowley is sleep-warm and smells not unpleasantly of his bed, but also of the familiar combination of spice and smoke. Tears spring to Aziraphale's eyes for no reason other than sheer gratitude at having Crowley back in his life. Crowley kisses his hair, which only makes him cry more.

"I brought cake," Aziraphale says when he can manage spoken language again. He sniffles into Crowley's shoulder. "Dark chocolate truffle, to suit your tastes, dear. And there's wine."

He looks up into Crowley's face and brings his thumb up to wipe away Crowley's tear tracks. It cheers him a bit, to see Crowley just as affected by their reunion.

"That sounds properly decadent." Crowley's voice is shaky, but his eyes have that familiar teasing light in them. "What do you think, cake in bed?"

Aziraphale gives Crowley another squeeze around his middle. "That sounds just lovely."

Their lips meet again, properly this time. They kiss so long and deeply that Aziraphale nearly suggests that they skip the food and just go to bed. But there's time enough for all of that, now that they're together again.

Instead, he changes into tartan pyjama pants and fluffs Crowley's pillows so they can sit up in bed, where they curl up together and feed each other bites directly from the cake, forgoing plates entirely. The wine pairs wonderfully, as does Crowley leaning on him, still drowsy, while Aziraphale fills him in on everything he's missed.

"I really have missed you, you know," Aziraphale says when there's a lull in conversation. "I'm sorry I kept us apart. It was so new and so wonderful between us—I suppose I didn't want to push us into anything. Call it an overabundance of caution."

"You wouldn't have. Pushed me, that is." Crowley draws aimless patterns on Aziraphale's bare chest as he talks. "Missed you, too. I missed you in my dreams. I kept thinking you were here with me."

"I wanted to be," Aziraphale murmurs. "More than anything." He pulls Crowley on top of him and kisses him again, and again, and again.

This is their happy ending, he thinks as they rediscover each other slowly, hands and mouths and hips. This is where they were always meant to be. The world spins on outside, as is its wont, and the two of them stay in bed, reunited at last.


End file.
